


Just the Shelter (But Maybe You, Too)

by persistfam



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Armie pretends to be a badass, At least for a little bit, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Timmy's mean, Vaguely enemies to lovers, slow burn?, snapping turtle, the animal shelter au that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistfam/pseuds/persistfam
Summary: Armie screws up and is forced to volunteer at the local animal shelter for a couple hours every school day. He gets more than he bargained for when the kid in charge of him seems to hate him.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	Just the Shelter (But Maybe You, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally wrote this *checks notes* 6 years ago, for a different fandom, and figured I'd rework it for this one... And then it ended up 4k+ longer than the original ;n; Also, if this affects anyone's decision on reading this (bc I saw a post about this floating around on Tumblr): it's like 44 pages long on a word document lmao.
> 
> A few quick things: The boys are in high school and are the same age, but no specific age is mentioned. Greta is Timmy's aunt in this and Kiernan is her daughter. Harper also has no relationship to Armie here (and she really only appears briefly toward the end).
> 
> This is a work of fiction, et cetera.

The chain link fence clinks ominously as Armie jumps off. Catching his breath and readjusting a bulky duffel bag over his shoulder, he stares up at the dark windows of the school looming in front of him. _Sacred Path College_ , he snorts. ‘ _Honor, Iustitiam, Veritatem, Fidem,’ my ass._

Crouching low, Armie slinks his way towards the corner of the largest building. Even if it’s nearing three in the morning, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. He doesn’t quite remember if his cheap ass school decided to fork over enough funds for a night guard. Nearing the corner, he pulls a can of spray paint out of his duffel and shakes it vigorously. He tests the spray, once, twice, and begins to write, a smirk twisting his lips.

His work takes him well over an hour, but when it’s done he stands back and smiles. _That’ll do it_ , a small voice in the back of his head drawls _._ He bundles up his supplies, covers his footprints, and high tails it over the gate and back home before anyone has a chance to notice his lack of presence.

\--

Morning sees Armie being woken up by his father attempting to break down his door with his fists.

“ _Armand_ Douglas _Hammer_!” roars his father. The doorknob jiggles dangerously.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Armie slides out of bed and wrenches the door open before his father can steamroll it. “ _What_?!”

His father pauses, red faced and breathing hard, one fist still raised as if he was setting in for another round of yelling and pounding before his son woke up. He recovers quickly and grabs the neck of Armie’s t-shirt, hauls him into the living room where the morning news is broadcasting a break in and vandalism at Sacred Path College. Armie feels the beginnings of a smirk settle on his lips before his eyes flick over to the top right of the screen where a blurry but not altogether unrecognizable shot of himself is displayed. His smile falls to meet his heart and stomach somewhere near his knees when he realizes he forgot to take into account that his school wasn’t too cheap for security cameras.

Not too much later, the sound of the Hammers’ house phone ringing echoes throughout the room.

\--

It’s hot in the school foyer.

Armie sighs as he glances up at the ceiling fans spinning on high in a valiant attempt to combat the heat of the afternoon. He sighs again as he fiddles with the rolled up cuffs of his button up. His father turns to him, eyes wide and glinting dangerously.

“Armie!” he hisses. “Quit fidgeting, you’re making me nervous!”

Armie stifles an eye roll and grudgingly stops messing with his cuffs. He grunts.

“Don’t make noises at me, young man. You did this to yourself.”

And he did, in a way. Granted it wasn’t his best idea to bring his cigarettes to school when he was already in a shit load of trouble for what they deemed “insubordination” (all he did was go to the restroom once or twice or ten times despite his teachers refusing to give their permission because he had the fucking runs and his parents refused to let him stay home alone—

“Just drink some pepto and go to school, Armie, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”—

He’d had to go to the headmaster’s after because like hell he was going to announce in front of a large group of teenagers that he needed to take a shit.)

but still, for all the teachers to gang up and accuse him of smoking in the restrooms just because he’s a known smoker when his cigarettes had been in his bag all day… _Fucking religious douche bags and their fucking high-ass horses_ , the voice in the back of his head supplies _._

But no. They did and he had gotten suspended for a week because of it—which led him here. To the ridiculously stuffy foyer by the headmaster’s office, waiting for his name to be called so the overweight, underpaid man could demand a fine from him and-or set him to do whatever the fuck for a period of time to “reflect upon his actions and clean up his act.”

“Armie,” the headmaster’s secretary appears at the doorway to call him in. _Speak of the devil_.

Armie walks into the office without waiting for his father and gets a firm glare from him once he catches up. He makes sure his father sees his eyes roll this time.

“Armie, Mr. Hammer, I’m glad you could make it,” the headmaster rumbles, his large, meaty hands resting on his equally meaty gut.

Armie scoffs mentally and watches as his father scampers to shake the man’s hand. “Yes, sir, good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, good afternoon! Have a seat!” the headmaster is all smiles that don’t reach his eyes as he ushers them to plush chairs in front of his desk. “Well, Mr. Hammer, as I’m sure you’re aware, we caught you on tape breaking in and defiling our school grounds. This is a pretty serious offense, Armie. I’m only going to ask you one thing: why did you do it?”

Armie exhales heavily. As he shifts in his seat, he wonders how he should put this…

_Fuck it_. “Because I think this school and all its staff are full of shit and my suspension was completely baseless and I’m sick of it.”

Well that was one way.

Mr. Hammer gasps beside him and Armie stares with sticky vindication as the headmaster’s face reddens in shock and indignation, the large man completely taken aback.

“Armand _Douglas_ Hammer,” whispers his father furiously, his eyes darting between his son and the headmaster.

The headmaster breathes once, twice before finding his words. “W-well… I’m sure you understand with the evidence stacked up against… I can’t say I agree with your thoughts of this institution…” he pauses to clear his throat. “In any case, Armie, you broke an alarming number of school rules, not to mention the law. If I were any stricter, I would have turned you over to the police to let them handle it, but…” _But you don’t want any bad press surrounding your precious institution_.

“Sir, Armie’s at a rough age in his life right now,” Armie’s father speaks up. “But other than these last few instances, he’s a model student. His grades are high and he’s very active in school sports. He—”

A raised, meaty hand cuts him off.

“I am aware of your son’s place in this school, Mr. Hammer, and I have already taken that into consideration when thinking about his punishment.” He leans forward slightly. “Armie, your actions weren’t small. You damaged the fencing and completely destroyed the courtyard and the walkway leading to the atrium with your graffiti. It’s extremely lucky that the janitorial staff arrives well before anyone else to open the school so that they were able to erase what you wrote. Not before they called me down, of course, but still. Because of the extent of your actions, the school administration has decided that you will be suspended for the rest of the semester.

“During your suspension from regular classes, you will be required to assist the janitorial staff with opening and preparing the school every morning as well as helping them with any cleaning or maintenance within the first three hours of the school day. You’ll have to keep up with your studies during your suspension, too. Your teachers will provide you with the lesson plans and you already have all your books. For the rest of the day, you can ask your teachers for help, provided they have time. You will also be required to complete two hours of community service a day after school. This is where you have a choice.”

The headmaster pauses and Armie feels his ears burning, his heart beating in his throat. _This is complete bullshit_.

“You can either join the traffic violators of our community and pick up trash for two hours everyday, or you can help out at the local animal shelter.”

_Not much choice there_. Armie scoffs. “The animal shelter.”

“Excellent. You begin next week,” the man smiles, and for some reason it’s rather sinister.

\--

Armie sighs as he stares out the window at the small houses and shops passing by. He’s on his way to the animal shelter for his first day of community service and he’s fucking exhausted. Being the first day of his suspension meant that he’d had to haul himself out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn to help open the school. Before he had a chance to escape, he’d been roped into helping replace the awning in front of the science wing. The headmaster had walked by at that moment and shot him a self-satisfied smile that didn’t reach his eyes, sending Armie grumbling _. I really can’t stand that man._

He turns away from the window and rolls his head against the headrest. His mother shoots him a withering look from behind the wheel. “Don’t complain, young man.”

“Yes, mother, I know, I brought this on myself, et cetera, et cetera,” he groans. “It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy being this tired…” he grumbles as an afterthought.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

The rest of the ride is spent in silence.

\--

Armie’s mother pulls onto a small side road close to the edge of the city. After a few more minutes of driving, she pulls into the lot of the shelter.

“Oh. My. _God…_ ” he whispers. That the shelter looks torn up would be sugar coating it. _There’s no way this passed any kind of inspection…_ Armie thinks.

His mother interrupts his thoughts with a short, “Out. I’ll pick you up in two hours. Have fun, love you.”

He nods and stumbles from the car distractedly, still caught up in the look of the shelter to form coherent thoughts. As his mother drives off, he heads toward the entrance of the building, taking in the peeling paint, the tracks of condensation from the air conditioning units that have started to mold slightly. He hesitates just inside the doorway. _Is—is this the same place? It’s so clean in here._

The room is wide and light with large windows that are thrown open, its curtains flowing in the breeze wafting in. On the walls hang large frames holding pictures of dozens upon dozens of dogs and cats. Many of the animals are joined by a boy who looks to be around the same age as Armie, along with other figures Armie can’t quite make out. It’s comfortable, homey. As far as punishments go, Armie thinks he wouldn’t mind spending time in here.

He peers up over the counter at one of the smaller frames on the wall. The boy is there again, laughing ecstatically, eyes crinkled at the corners and mouth wide open, at the camera as the puppy—a golden retriever—in his arms snaps at the brown hair curled delicately below his ear.

“You gonna stare around all day or are you going to tell me why you’re standing in my building?” a sharp voice snaps, and Armie flinches, not having noticed anyone else in the room with him.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m Armie—Armand. Hammer. I’m supposed to volunteer here for a couple hours every school day?”

The boy from the pictures stares appraisingly at him, eyebrows raised almost haughtily over skeptical green eyes. An incredibly sharp jawline stands prominent on his face and provides a nice frame below his surprisingly pink lips. His hair is a little longer than in the pictures, Armie notices, curling softly over his eyes, his arms crossed over a lean torso—Armie stops his eyes from tracking down the rest of the boy’s body, because it’s not that Armie’s checking him out or anything. Really.

The boy hums, rolls his eyes. “The trouble maker. Okay. Follow me.” He lifts a divider before turning on his heels and walking out a doorway. Armie, reeling, scrambles after him.

“So, uh, do you have a name? Or…” Armie tries.

“Timothée.”

“…Timothée?” The pronunciation is difficult, awkward in his mouth.

A snort. “Nice try. Ahh, whatever, just call me Timmy, I guess.”

“Timmy” leads him through a small back office where a woman is sitting at a computer, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. “That’s my Aunt Greta, she’s the owner of the shelter,” Timmy tells him. Armie waves shyly in greeting and follows Timmy through another door to the outside. It’s bright, and Armie has to shield his eyes from the assault of light.

“So this is the main facility,” Timmy says, pointing out buildings as Armie struggles to get his eyes to focus. “The dog kennels are to the left and those are the mother and puppy kennels are right next to it. The cat house is that small building closest to the main building over there, and that small hut looking one right there is the Miscellaneous Animal Station. It also doubles as our food preparation area since there aren’t that many miscellaneous animals brought into the shelter anyway. Just for the record, you’ll be spending most of your time in the MAS unless you’re helping with food delivery or cleaning.” Armie stamps down a small wave of disappointment as Timmy takes a breath. “There’s a small play field in the front of the shelter, and, that building in the way back is what used to be the euthanasia room.”

“Used to be?”

“The workers here fought to turn this place into a no-kill shelter. We only recently succeeded, if you can even call it that. We’re officially no-kill as of two months ago, but the government is refusing to provide us with any more money this year because there just isn’t a budget for it. We have to make due with donations and what we already have for the rest of this year and hope that there’s enough money to spare for us next year,” Armie listens as Timmy’s voice goes from mildly irritated to strongly impassioned, watches as Timmy’s green eyes grow bigger, reflecting gold in the sunlight, and his hands. His hands…

He nods when he realizes Timmy isn’t speaking anymore, and follows closely behind him as he heads toward one of the smaller buildings. The MAS, he remembers vaguely. “It’s about time to be preparing food for the animals,” Timmy mumbles. “We’re sheltering about fifty cats and dogs right now, and one turtle who you’ll meet first. We need to start getting food together early or they’ll never be fed on time.”

The MAS turns out to be more of a small kitchen with an even smaller area of cages and a small tub filled with a bit of water. While a bit cramped, it’s reminiscent of the office, with large windows that let in an abundance of light. Thinking of the similarities, he doesn’t mind that he has to spend most of his time here instead. Timmy pulls large pots from below a sink and larger plastic containers from beside it. “Pay attention, I’m putting you on food duty starting tomorrow.”

Armie watches as Timmy measures out kibble from one of the big containers. “We have twenty-eight dogs and puppies and twenty-four cats and kittens. And one turtle in that tub over there, but anyway. Ah, there’s a paper here with the recipes for all the food. You need to follow it exactly otherwise there won’t be enough food for everyone an—”

“Pony,” a tall, lithe girl singsongs and waltzes into the room.

“Hey Sersh,” he throws a smile at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey yo,” another voice drawls. Another girl walks into the room. She stops short when she sees Armie.

“Kiernan,” Timmy’s smile, small but genuine, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners like in the photos, moves to her. Her eyes snap to Timmy and an answering smile plays over her face.

“Oh? Who’s this?” Sersh asks, her gaze directed toward Armie, who’s failed in his attempt to blend in with the wall.

“Armie,” says Timmy carelessly, waving a hand in Armie’s direction. “Armie, Saoirse, my best friend. Saoirse, Armie.”

As he turns back to the animal food, Saoirse skips up to Armie and holds out a hand. “Hi, nice to meet you,” she smiles, her lips curling prettily over her teeth. “I’m Saoirse, like he said, best friend extraordinaire of that lump over there. This is Kiernan. We help out Timmy after school. Speaking of school, what happened to you last period Timmy?”

Kiernan comes up to Armie and shakes his hand as Saoirse rounds on Timmy, moving to hang on his shoulder. “So, you’re the trouble maker?” she asks quietly.

Armie chuckles. “According to Timmy, yeah, I guess.”  
  
“My cousin’s already started to give you shit already, huh? Geez,” Kiernan laughs.

“Cousin?” Armie blinks, looking back at Timmy, who is now trying to shrug a laughing Saoirse off his shoulder, looking like he’s struggling not to laugh himself. He thinks can see a vague resemblance. If he squints his eyes, maybe.

“Yup. My mom’s in the office. You may or may not have met already.”

“Oh. Uh, in passing…”

“Hmm… So has Timmy gotten on your nerves yet?”

“Not really? He’s just very… straightforward.”

“Don’t hold it against him. He’s nice, really. It’s just—”

“Armie!” Timmy barks from the sink. “I thought I told you to pay attention to this!”

Armie scrambles to the sink to watch Timmy put together the animal food.

\--

Armie stumbles into his room after a long day of community service and drops onto his bed. He lets out a groan and runs a hand over his face as he runs through the past few hours.

He’d managed to pay enough attention to become completely lost as Timmy poured scoop after scoop of dry and canned dog food into two large pots and mixed and then loaded bowls pulled from—somewhere—and then placed those bowls onto a couple push carts. With a simple, “Come,” Armie and Saoirse followed Timmy out the door and toward the dog kennels while Kiernan started preparing food for the puppies and cats.

The one thing Armie wasn’t prepared for was the immediate transformation of curt, thorny Timmy into cooing, smiley Timmy. He watched, strangely breathless, as Timmy walked into each of the kennels and interacted with each of the dogs like they were his own, getting to his knees to pet them and squawking and laughing as they nearly knocked him over in a fit of excitement and licks.

Armie had to look away for a second, or a minute. Many times. When he realized what he was doing, he shook himself because _what the fuck_?

And things had only gotten worse from there.

After the dog kennels, Timmy delivered the food Kiernan prepared to the mother and puppy kennels and then to the cat house. Armie definitely didn’t have to turn around and pretend to be distracted by sorting through the bowls of food in a push cart when Timmy started cooing and giggling at the rest of the animals and _definitely_ did not have to hide any flushed cheeks as he watched Timmy interact with the purring kittens, nope, Definitely Not. (Except he _did_ , what the _fuck_.)

The one thing that Armie definitely did do, though, was notice Kiernan and Saoirse smirking at him.

Armie’s stomach clenches the same way it did in that moment. He sits up and brings his knees to his chest, rests his chin in the valley they create. He puffs up his cheeks and blows air slowly through pursed lips, trying to take stock of everything.

_One_ , he counts mentally. _Timmy is attractive_. He bites his lip as he recalls Timmy poking his fingers through the bars of a cage in the cat house, softly stroking the fur of a particularly small kitten while its mother eats the food he just delivered with a gentle smile on his face. _Very attractive_.

_Two, I’m pretty sure he hates me_ , he grimaces, nose wrinkling. _Which—that’s a little unfair. He doesn’t even know me_.

He rolls his eyes at himself, because, _Whatever. Number three, it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m just there for the rest of the semester, and then I don’t have to go back or see him—any of them—again._

And if that thought doesn’t sit comfortably in his mind, he ignores it, because it’s true.

“Armie!” calls his mother. “Come and eat!”

Armie sighs and pushes himself off the bed.

\--

_Ding, ding!_

> New Message from Nick the Great:
> 
> 09:33 PM  
> Yoooooo
> 
> 09:33 PM  
> Hw goes the volunteering?
> 
> 09:34 PM  
> Does it suck?
> 
> 09:34 PM  
> Or are you having fuuuuuuuun?!
> 
> 09:34 PM  
> I can’t believe you changed  
> your name on my phone again.  
>   
> Idiot.
> 
> 09:35 PM  
> It’s...
> 
> 09:35 PM  
> It’s okay. I guess.
> 
> New Message from Nick the Idiot:
> 
> 09:36 PM  
> That’s it?
> 
> 09:37 PM  
> No details?
> 
> 09:37 PM  
> No cute ppl?
> 
> 09:37 PM  
> Srsly?
> 
> 09:37 PM  
> No.
> 
> 09:37 PM  
> Well...
> 
> 09:38 PM  
> Well...???????? dON’T!!!!!  
> LEAVE ME HANGING ARMAND!!  
> !!!!
> 
> 09:45 PM  
> Oh come on!
> 
> 09:47 PM  
> Ugh, fine.
> 
> 09:48 PM  
> I missed you at school, loser :(
> 
> 09:48 PM  
> And you’re not allowed to come  
> back until next sem? :(
> 
> 09:48 PM  
> Nope.
> 
> 09:49 PM  
> howre classes?
> 
> 09:49 PM  
> Boring as hell. Tyler’s  
> been trying to keep me company  
> tho.
> 
> 09:50 PM  
> oic
> 
> 09:50 PM  
> i see very much.
> 
> 09:50 PM  
> Don’t be jealoussss
> 
> 09:51 PM  
> Don’t show him how much of  
> a loser you actually are
> 
> 09:51 PM  
> wOW FUCK U
> 
> 09:51 PM  
> i hoPE WHOEVER YOU HAVE A  
> CRUSH ON AT THE SHELTER  
> IS STRAIGHT AS A BOARD  
> YOU BOTCH
> 
> 09:52 PM  
> ouch...
> 
> 09:52 PM  
> xoxo

\--

Life for Armie doesn’t get that much better for the first few weeks following the start of his suspension. He is drafted into more and more maintenance jobs after opening the school and rarely has enough time to get to his teachers to ask questions about his schoolwork because of it. He’s lacking a severe amount of sleep, his grades are suffering, and on top of it all, he’s nowhere near close to getting on Timmy’s good side at the shelter.

“Armie!” has become a constant, daily refrain, in that same, snappy tone that Timmy seems to have reserved solely for Armie whenever he does anything wrong, and in a _slightly-less-but still very_ snappy tone for anything else he does. He can only thank whatever deity exists that it’s Friday and he can take a break for a couple days before being yelled at again.

“Armie!” Timmy snaps, walking into the MAS. _This kid is going to have a long ass life…_ he thinks to himself. “You’re making the food too dry. The dogs won’t be able to eat that without choking, you need to add a bit more canned food.”

Armie exhales slowly through pressed lips. “Sorry.”

He works quickly to fix the food and load the carts as Saoirse and Kiernan prepare food for the rest of the animals.

“Go easy on him, Pony,” calls Saoirse. “He’s doing the best he can.”

She walks over to the sink where Armie is serving the food into bowls and bumps his hips with hers. He glances at her and she smiles encouragingly, and maybe a tad bit apologetically before helping him load the filled bowls.

When they’re done, Armie starts to push a cart out towards the dog kennels, but Timmy stops him with, “Oh Armie, can you feed the turtle before you come out?”

Armie nods because what’s the harm? He picks up the bag of food that was left on the table and turns towards the tub.

“By the way,” Timmy breezes as he exists the room, pushing a food cart in front of him. “Mr. Benedict is a snapping turtle.”

_… Fuck._

Armie exits the MAS in a hurry after almost losing a finger to Mr. Benedict. He walks swiftly towards the dog kennels but sees no one there, the dogs happily scarfing down the food in their bowls. He turns toward the mother and puppy kennels and still finds no one.

_Where… I wasn’t with that turtle for that_ _long was I?_ He heads to the cat house. As he approaches the door, he hears Timmy and Saoirse’s voices filtering out.

“ _… finances?_ ” Saoirse asks.

“ _I’m handling it, Sersh. Don’t worry about it,_ ” Timmy replies, and his voice sounds strained.

“ _Pony, I hope you’re not using your own money again,_ ”

“ _I said don’t worry,_ ”

“ _She’s right, though, Tim, you can’t be buying the supplies for the shelter all by yourself like that. Does my mom even know that you’re doing this? Does_ yours?” Kiernan’s voice adds.

“ _Well what else am I supposed to do, Kier? We don’t have enough funding to finish this year out_ and _wait until the government_ maybe _gives us more funds next year. Besides, it’s not a big deal. I still have a bunch of money left over from my last birthday since almost all our relatives copped out on actual gifts._ ”

“ _But what happens when your funds run dry, too?_ ” Saoirse asks.

“ _I told you guys, don’t worry about it._ ”

“ _Timm—_ ”

“ _Guys, seriously, it’s_ fine. _Can you hand me the bag of kibble?_ ”

Armie takes that as sign that it’s safe to enter the room. Kiernan and Saoirse look up and nod at him as he walks in; Timmy merely glances up from his place inside a cage filling a feeder with kibble.

“Nice of you to turn up,” Timmy drawls. “How’re your fingers?”

Armie waves at him in return, waggling his fingers just to get the point across. He stops himself from raising the middle one, but only just.

“Damn,” Timmy stage whispers. Saoirse and Kiernan laugh good-naturedly.

As Armie goes to finish bringing bowls of food to the rest of the cats, Kiernan says, “Hey, so are you coming tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Armie pauses.

“Tsk. Timmy, how could you, you know that we need all the help we can get!” Saoirse admonishes.

“Must’ve slipped my mind…”

“Anyway,” Kiernan presses. “Tomorrow is the day we start cleaning the animals.”

“I’m sorry, cleaning?”

“Animals need baths, too.” Kiernan shrugs.

“I…” Armie trails off. _I’m not supposed to have hours on the weekend…_ “Sure. Totally.”

“Great!” Saoirse grins. “Be here by 8, ‘kay? Earlier if possible. And bring people if you can! Believe us when we say that we’re going to need a lot of help.”

“No trouble makers!” adds Timmy. Kiernan laughs.

\--

> 06:11 PM  
> Niki~~~~~
> 
> 06:15 PM  
> Oh gawd, what do you want  
> from me???? You only call  
> me that when you want  
> smth you shit smh
> 
> 06:15 PM  
> You know you’re my best  
> friend, right?
> 
> 06:16 PM  
> Yes, and I know you can’t  
> live without me.
> 
> 06:16 PM  
> Favor?
> 
> 06:16 PM  
> Waht
> 
> 06:18 PM  
> So I got drafted into extra  
> volunteer work tomorrow and  
> they need more hands also  
> so will you please come with  
> me????
> 
> 06:19 PM  
> You’re buying me a burger  
> after. The ones from Moe’s.
> 
> 06:20 PM  
> Damn it, fine.
> 
> 06:20 PM  
> Bring Tyler if u can too
> 
> 06:20 PM  
> K

\--

The next day dawns before Armie is ready. He drags himself out of bed at 6:30 (“Also known as _Too Goddamn Early to Be Up On a Saturday_ ,” Armie grumbles to himself as he walks to the kitchen) to get a bit of breakfast before getting ready to head to the shelter.

Yawning as he opens the fridge, Armie grabs a carton of orange juice and takes a generous gulp—

“Good morning, star shine, the earth says, ‘Hello,’” a voice singsongs from behind him.

—and sloshes a little juice down his front. He whirls around, glare at the ready for Nick and Tyler giggling at the table, “God damn it,” he croaks. “What the bloody fu—”

“Armand,” his mother’s tone is warning.

“Yeah _Armand_ ,” Nick mocks. “Language.”

When his mother isn’t looking, Armie flips the pair off, sending them into another fit of laughter. Nick sends him a kiss and a wink and Tyler collapses on the table in guffaws.

“Why are you guys here so early?” Armie asks, sleep still seeping into his voice.

“Because I haven’t seen your mom in a while and I wanted to come over and chat before we headed over to the shelter,” Nick answers.

“I thought you were _my_ friend,” Armie mumbles as he sits at the table.

“Mmm, yeah,” Nick nods. “But I like your mom better.”

Armie flips him off again.

“ _Armand Douglas_ ,” snaps his mother.

\--

Armie unfolds himself from the backseat of Tyler’s car and heads toward the entrance, shaking out his legs. “Next time I’m riding shotgun,” he glares at Nick, who pretends not to hear him.

“Wow,” rumbles Tyler. “This place looks like shit.”

Nick smacks him in the chest. “Ty!”

Armie chuckles and reaches for the door. “It looks better inside.”

“Armie!” Timmy’s aunt calls from behind the front desk. “I’m so glad you could make it! And you brought friends! Hi, I’m Greta, I’m the owner of this shelter. It’s nice to meet you…” she trails off, eyebrows raising expectantly.

“Oh, I’m Nick and this is Tyler. It’s nice to meet you too,” says Nick, stepping forward and shaking hands with Greta with a smile. Tyler follows suit.

“Thanks so much for coming with Armie to help out. Just go ahead and follow him towards the back. My nephew is in the MAS with everyone else.”

Armie smiles at her and motions for Nick and Tyler to follow him through the back to the MAS. As they near the small building, shouts of laughter drift out through the open doorway. Armie walks in with Nick and Tyler on his tail, and immediately gets a faceful of water from the sink spray hose. He sputters as Nick, Tyler, Kiernan, and Saoirse double over in laughter, stares at Timmy who has the spray hose in a firm grip.

Timmy stares back at Armie for a few seconds before doubling over in laughter himself.

_Asshole_.

It’s when the others recover from their laughing fit that Tyler and Saoirse see each other.

“Saoirse?”

“Tyler!”

“What are you doing here?” they ask at the same time.

“Timmy’s my best friend so I’m here all the time! What are you doing here?” says Saoirse.

“Armie’s my buddy,” answers Tyler.

They walk over to each other and give each other a quick hug as everyone in the room looks on in confusion. They laugh when they notice the stares.

“We take art classes together,” Saoirse says to the room at large.

“Well…” Kiernan rumbles, walking over to shake hands with Tyler, then Nick. “That’s news. Kiernan.”

“Nick.”

“And that’s Timmy, since he didn’t look like he was going to say anything anyway,” quips Saoirse.

Kiernan laughs. Timmy flushes. Armie double takes. _Timmy, flustered?_

Timmy clears his throat. “Yeah. Hi. Uh—anyway, let’s get these shampoo bottles outside so we can start already. If we don’t finish by sunset, we’ll have to continue tomorrow.”

They all group around the sink to gather bottles. “So how many animals do you guys house here?” Tyler asks.

“Twenty-eight dogs and puppies and twenty-four cats and kittens,” replies Kiernan.

“And one turtle,” adds Armie darkly. Nick looks at him curiously. Timmy smirks.

“That’s… that’s a lot of dogs,” mutters Tyler. “Will we even finish today?”

“If Timmy puts his mind to it?” Saoirse says. “Yup. Come on.”

They amble outside and place their load near a group of faucets with hoses attached.

“Okay,” says Timmy. “So, I think we need to take care of the smaller dogs first before the—the bigger ones. They should be easier to take care of, so it would be good to get them out of the way first. Also with the smaller ones, we can handle them by ourselves instead of in twos or threes.”

The group nods and Timmy points to the dog kennels. “The smaller dogs are in kennels 10-28. Take a leash and slip it over their heads as soon as you walk in. Uh, none of them bite, but they might try to make a run for it.”

They get to work and the rest of the morning is filled with shouts and laughter and squeals when the dogs decide to shake as soon as the water is turned off.

They manage to finish bathing all the smaller dogs and a couple of the bigger dogs before Greta waltzes out of the office and declares it lunch time, carrying huge containers of subs and cookies and a cooler of drinks. The break is spent eating, talking, and laughing, all of them joking around with each other like this morning wasn’t the first time they all met. Even Timmy laughs freely, his mouth opening widely, eyes squeezing adorably, not that Armie’s looking.

“So you guys all go to school together?” asks Saoirse.

“Sacred Path, yup,” replies Nick. “What about you three?”

“Yeah, we all go to Gatewood.”

“Oh nice!”

Saoirse turns to Timmy. “Speaking of school, Pony, you have to quit skipping last period. Day’s starting to interrogate me every time you’re not there!”

“Urgh, but I hate Day and that stupid Lit class,” groans Timmy.

“Ahh, no,” Nick chimes. “Don’t mention any hatred for Lit class around Armie, he’ll castrate you.”

Kiernan laughs. “You like Lit class, then?”

Armie shifts in his seat. “Yes?” he answers uncomfortably.

“Maybe you should help Timmy, then,” Saoirse suggests mildly, eyeing Armie. “Teach him how to like it.” She dodges to the side, narrowly avoiding getting sprayed by Timmy, who had been taking a sip of water.

“Sersh, what the fuck,” Timmy coughs, wipes his chin.

Saoirse snickers and glances at Armie, who suddenly finds his sub wrapper incredibly fascinating. “Just a suggestion,” she murmurs.

“How about you suggest something useful?” Timmy cuts. “Like getting back to work so that we don’t have to come back tomorrow for this, yeah? We still have to wash some of the mothers and puppies,” he gets up and stalks back towards the kennels after throwing away his trash before Armie can fully process Saoirse’s words.

“Well,” Tyler sighs, standing up. “Guess it _is_ time to get back to work.”

Slowly, the others finish the last bites of their subs and follow after Tyler.

Timmy is already in one of the kennels with his faced pressed to the neck of a golden retriever. He pulls away when he they get closer. “So we need to split into teams of two to tackle the rest of the big dogs, I think…”

He trails off as Saoirse attaches herself to Kiernan and Nick and Tyler wave between themselves and nod. He looks at Armie. Armie blinks at Timmy, Saoirse’s words and Timmy’s reaction to them still floating around in his mind.

And Armie flushes when he realizes that Timmy is his partner by default, darker so when what Saoirse said finally clicks ( _Which—what?_ ). He walks toward Timmy (hopefully before he can clock any extra color on Armie’s cheeks) and the golden retriever furtively, reaching for the leash held loosely in Timmy’s hands before bending down to slip it over the dog’s head.

“Let’s go, I guess,” murmurs Armie, steadfastly not looking Timmy in the eyes.

And he leads the golden retriever out of the kennel. Timmy watches him silently before seeming to remember something. “Wait!” he yells, but it’s too late. As soon as the retriever crosses the threshold of the kennel, he takes off and yanks Armie along behind him.

“Jesus Chri—” yells Armie. “Timmy!”

Everyone stills as Armie is yanked all over the shelter yard, stumbling when he tries to pull the dog back in and fails. Nick breaks first, his snickering growing louder and louder until he’s outright screaming in laughter. The others start laughing as well, including Timmy who had just started to run after Armie and the retriever.

“Fucking— _help me_!” Armie screams, his legs tripping over themselves as the retriever picks up speed.

Timmy struggles to restrain his laughter, falls to his knees and pats his thighs. “I’m sorry! Bruno!” he wheezes. “Bruno! C’mere boy!”

Armie’s legs finally give and his face meets the ground as the retriever turns and bounds over to Timmy. Timmy grins when he gets an armful of golden fur. Cracks up again when he sees Armie sprawled on the ground.

Armie doesn’t move. He hears footsteps, and then Timmy’s voice, closer than it was before. “Armie?” Timmy prods at him with what feels like the toe of his shoe. He hears Timmy’s knees crack as bends down next to Armie, feels a hand tentatively shake his shoulder. “Armie? Are you okay?”

Armie doesn’t move for a moment, still processing being dragged around the shelter yard. As he feels Timmy shake him again, he groans and turns his head toward him, and— _oh_.

Armie’s never really liked cliché things, but he’s stunned into silence looking up at Timmy. He’s glowing, thanks to his position over Armie and the sun at his back, brown tendrils of hair curling softly around his face, his eyes a deeper green now that they’re in the shadows. Armie feels his heart pick up speed. _W-what?_

“Are you okay?” Timmy asks again.

“Y-yeah,” Armie stutters, chokes on a bit of dust. He becomes aware of how ridiculous he’s being ( _My heart’s just—no, my heart isn’t doing anything, Jesus, Armie get your shit together!_ ) and pushes himself up hurriedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Timmy stands and holds out a hand to help Armie up. Armie ignores the little flips starting in his chest cavity ( _absolutely not my heart though, nope_ ) when he takes it. Glancing around, Armie sees Kiernan and Tyler still laughing and Nick and Saoirse whispering feverishly to each other, side eyeing Armie. He shrugs off the ominous feeling creeping up his back and walks over to the hoses. “Nothing. Happened,” he says, voice firm, and ignores Nick’s smirk. “Let’s just get the dogs bathed, okay?”

Timmy leads Bruno over to Armie and secures him before beginning to wash him.

For the next few hours, they bathe the bigger dogs in pairs and then move on to the mothers and puppies that are safe to wash. It’s three o’clock by the time they finish washing the dogs, and they take another short break before moving to start on preparing food. Armie’s tiredness begins to sink into his bones making his movements at the sink sluggish. He doesn’t hear Nick approach him.

“What’s wrong, Grandpa?” he coos into Armie’s ear. Armie flinches, muffles a curse as his knee hits the bottom of the sink. “Too tired?”

“ _Fuck!_ Nick!” Laughs are heard from around the room.

“Language, Armand,” Nick snorts. “I was just checking on you. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He almost feels sorry for yelling, until he sees Timmy walk in. Until he sees Nick’s words register with Timmy and he walks over. _Nick Delli Santi I will fucking kil—_ “If you’re tired, I can take over,” Timmy says.

“I’m fine,” Armie insists, still mentally digging Nick a nice burial plot.

Timmy shrugs and walks away. “Remember, not too dry,” he calls over his shoulder.

When Timmy is across the small room helping the others with the cat food, Nick leans in and whispers, “So… _Him_ , huh?”

“Don’t start,” Armie whispers back heatedly, turning back to the dog food.

“But you think he’s cute!”

“I told you nothing of the sort.”

Nick whips out his phone and scrolls back to their messages. Armie wants to knock it out of his hand. “That ‘Well…’ is proof enough, Armie Hammer, don’t lie to me.”

_Fuck._ “I could’ve been talking about Kiernan or Saoirse you know. Or Greta.”

Nick snorts. “Please, Armie. I know you too well to believe that.”

“But Saoirse _is_ cute!”

“Should I be worried?” Nick and Armie both jump at the sound of Kiernan’s voice behind them. They turn around and see her watching Armie with suspicious eyes.

“No! No. I’m just trying to prove a point to Nick, don’t worry,” mutters Armie, sending Nick a glare. Kiernan’s eyes narrow, stay trained on them as she gathers an armful of bowls before walking away.

Nick looks like he’s about to start again, so Armie cuts him off. “Enough, Niki. This conversation is over.”

Nick huffs. “For now.”

As they load up the carts to bring the food out, Saoirse says, “Don’t forget about Mr. Benedict!”

“Not it!” yells Kiernan.

“Not it!” chorus Saoirse, Nick, and Tyler.

Timmy’s already walking out of the MAS.

_God fucking shit._

Dejected, head hanging, Armie picks up the bag of turtle food and slinks to the tub.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmurs. “You’re not going to try to bite me this time, are you?”

He grabs a handful of food and reaches to drop it in. He gets bitten.

“Why the fuck!” he yells, gripping his hand. Blood begins to seep out of the gash, so he runs to the sink to wash it off, trying not to drip on the floor. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ I hate that fucking turtle fuc—”

“Well that’s not nice,” drawls Timmy.

Armie jumps again and water sloshes over the mouth of the sink. Timmy huffs. He walks over to the sink and grabs the first aid kit on the shelf by Armie’s head. Pulling out peroxide, ointment, and a bandage, he reaches for Armie’s hand.

Armie can’t ignore the irregularities in his heartbeat anymore. He takes the time to observe Timmy, the boy who gives his all to snapping at Armie and running the animal shelter. He watches as Timmy’s face tenses in concentration, as his eyelashes flutter with every blink. He drags his eyes over the whole of his face, taking in the cheekbones that would probably feel really good under his fingertips, the lips that quirk up every now and then as if he’s laughing at whatever’s running through his head.

The lips that seem to be getting closer.

Armie stops himself when he realizes he’s leaning forward. He shakes his head, hoping to rid it of the stupor he threw himself in, and clears his throat just as Timmy finishes bandaging his hand. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“Mhm,” Timmy replies, nonchalant, already packing away the supplies and placing the kit back onto the shelf. “Come on, let’s go feed the babies.”

Armie exhales shakily before following Timmy out the door.

\--

> 06:47 PM  
> I’m so screwed.
> 
> 06:47 PM  
> What is this, I hear? Is  
> Armie finally realizing he  
> has a Very Big Crush on  
> our dear Timmy?
> 
> 06:48 PM  
> Fuck u
> 
> 06:48 PM  
> This is all ur fault
> 
> 06:48 PM  
> xoxo

\--

It’s one of those rare days that Kiernan and Saoirse can’t make it to the shelter, leaving Armie and Timmy to tackle the feeding by themselves. They work to prepare the animal food in silence, moving around each other with ease now; Armie hands Timmy a group of bowls before he can ask for them and Timmy finds he no longer has to remind Armie to not make the food too dry.

The silence surrounding them not uncomfortable, but Armie begins feeling antsy, feels the need to just— _say something._

“So. How was—how was school?” Armie tries, loading food bowls onto the carts.

“Hmm? Oh, uh. Okay I guess? Boring stuff I probably won’t ever need in the future.”

“Literature included?”

“Especially that.”

Armie tries to keep indignation from entering the chat. “You know, I really could help you out with that if you want…”

“Thanks, but no,” Timmy says. “It’s not that I’m getting bad grades in Lit. Like—I’m actually getting the best score in my class. I just… I’ve been around it my whole life, and you get tired of that sometimes, you know?”

“Your whole life?”

“My mom, she teaches lit. She started me on it when I was young and she’s always pushed it, pushed _me_ to like it since. I guess, maybe it was her way of linking us since I’ve always been closer to my aunt. It’s tiring, though. Like, I get it, I get how beautiful and all encompassing it is, I do. It’s just… tiring. Sensory overload or something, maybe.”

“So… if not literature, what are you interested in then?” Armie asks, fixing a bowl that won’t sit level.

Timmy is silent for a moment, so Armie isn’t expecting it when he starts speaking. “Animals. Here, and everywhere else of course, but especially the ones here. It’s—that’s kind of why I was so hard on you when you first started here. I thought you didn’t want to be here, that you’d be difficult and end up hurting one of them. I guess—I wasn’t totally fair to you, huh?”

He loads the last bowl onto the cart and looks up at Armie, eyes sharp. “You can’t really blame me though, when I all I heard from my aunt before you got here was that you had just been suspended for the entire semester for vandalism and that this was one of the terms so that you wouldn’t be turned over to the police. I—sorry,” he finishes sheepishly.

Armie blinks, watches as Timmy’s cheeks fill with color, as he fiddles with the last few bowls on the carts. “I—. It’s fine.”

A feeling settles itself into the back of Armies mind, one that he tries not to look at, since Timmy’s still in front of him, since he has a feeling that if he does it’ll be something warm, something that spreads itself across his chest, around his shoulders. So he doesn’t let himself look at it. “I think I would’ve treated me the same way, too. If I was in your shoes, I mean.”

“Can I ask though? About why you got suspended?” Timmy questions as they begin rolling the carts towards the kennels.

Armie sighs. “It’s embarrassing. The beginning at least.”

“I promise not to laugh?”

“Yeah, okay,” Armie snorts, inhales. “I was having stomach problems one day, but my parents didn’t let me stay home. My teachers refused to let me use the restroom, so I just walked out of class. They tossed me to the headmaster. A few days later, they accused me of smoking in the restroom and none of them would listen to me when I said it wasn’t me. They suspended me for a week when they found my cigarettes in my bag, which was stupid, because they should’ve been in my pocket if I was going to the restroom to smoke.”

Timmy frowns but says nothing.

“Anyway, I broke into the school and spray painted, ‘ _Fuck Sacred Path, my ass has more honor than any of the faculty or staff_ ,’ all over the courtyard and got caught on the security cameras,” Timmy huffs and Armie grins at him. “Ha, yeah. So the headmaster suspended me for the rest of the semester and I’m supposed to help open the school in the morning and fix anything that needs fixing, keep up with my regular school work without actually attending class, and volunteer here every afternoon,” he finishes, counting off on his fingers.

Timmy exhales heavily, a smile still playing at the corner of his lips. “That seems… kind of harsh…”

“Yes, well. I did make a personal jab at everyone at the school, so I guess it fits the crime,” Armie laughs.

Timmy is silent as they wheel the carts back to the MAS. “You know,” he starts. “If you ever need to take a break, you can skip out of your work here for a day or two. Aunt Greta lets me control the log for your time, so I can make it seem like you came anyway. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t say anything, either.”

Armie glances at Timmy, thoughtful. “It’s fine,” he says. “I like it here. Seeing the animals every day and how happy they get when someone’s around—it’s hardly punishment.”

Armie busies himself with unloading the carts and misses the pleased smile that crosses Timmy’s face.

\--

Armie walks in the office, a greeting for Greta on the tip of his tongue. It dies there, though, when he doesn’t see anyone sitting behind the old computer. Not thinking anything of it, he shrugs and heads out to start his hours for the day.

He walks in the MAS and sees Greta at the sink preparing the dog food. He looks around, expecting to see Timmy, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Greta throws a quick smile at him. “Good afternoon, Armie,” she calls.

“Hey Greta. Where’s… Where’s Timmy?”

“Hmm? Oh he should be here soon.”

“I’m actually already here,” comes Timmy’s voice. He walks through the doorway of the MAS, a bundle in his arms. “Look, I found a kitten near the drop box.”

He brings the bundle forward and lets his aunt see. A small kitten pops its head out and looks around curiously. Its fur is deep black and its eyes are yellow. One of them is darker than the other, a tiny cataract right in the center of it. There’s a small white diamond patch on its chest.

“Oh it’s adorable, Timmy,” coos Greta. She washes her hands off and reaches out to gently pat its head. “Have you checked for its gender yet?”

“Yeah, as soon as I picked him up. He’s a male.”

“So sweet.”

The kitten begins to purr loudly, arching his head up to meet Greta’s hand. “Armie, come meet our newest member!”

Armie inches forward, eyes locked on the kitten. As he gets closer, the kitten turns to look at him, his little nose twitching as he sniffs the air. Armie rubs the area above the kitten’s nose and his purring intensifies. Armie wants to coo.

He doesn’t notice how long he stands there petting the new kitten, but when he looks up, Timmy is staring at him with eyes softer than he’s ever seen, a small smile making his lips curl up at the corners. He retracts his hand and Timmy shifts the kitten around so that he’s looking at him.

“I think… I think I’ll call you Mr. Snarlington,” he says, his voice soft, gentle. The kitten mewls. “You like that name? You’re so cute, aren’t you? Yeah, you little ball of fluff.”

Timmy chuckles and begins rocking the newly dubbed Mr. Snarlington back and forth as Armie goes to take over the food preparation from Greta.

“It’s fine, Armie, I can handle it. Why don’t you and Timmy bring Mr. Snarlington to the office for a bit?”

Timmy heads back first with Armie trailing behind. When they get to the office, Timmy sets the kitten down on his aunt’s chair and they pet him until he settles down. Timmy’s smile never leaves his face.

Armie spends the rest of the day thinking about Timmy’s eyes and smile and how much he’d love it if they were his to keep.

\--

Armie runs a hand through his hair, his other hand clutching an exegesis on Franz Kafka’s “The Bucket Rider.” He just finished helping the janitors fix a bunch of leaks in the bathrooms in the science wing and needs to get to his Literature teacher before her prep period ends and he has to retreat to the library for the lunch hour. He stops outside her classroom and knocks before pushing the door open.

“Mrs. Flender?” he calls.

“Oh Armie!” his teacher answers, a smile on her face. “It’s good to see you! Did you need something?”

“Uh yeah…I finished writing the exegesis for ‘The Bucket Rider’ and I was hoping you could look over it to see if I did it correctly.”

“Oh okay, that’s abso—”

The door opens and Timmy walks in, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“There’s noth—Armie?”

“Hi…?” Armie looks between Timmy and his teacher, confusion mounting.

“Oh Armie, this is my son! It’s a staff development day at his school so he doesn’t have classes today,” Mrs. Flender steps in. “You know each other from the shelter, right?”

Timmy and Armie stare at each other warily, but nod at her question.

“I’m surprised you don’t know I’m his mom. You spend so much time at the shelter after school.”

“He never mentioned your name,” mumbles Armie.

“Hmm. Well now that you do know, Armie, maybe you can help me with getting him to enjoy Literature like you do,” she laughs.

Timmy rolls his eyes. “Mo—”

“I’d love to, Mrs. Flender, but I think Timmy’s too busy with the shelter to pay much attention to anything I could say about why Lit is amazing,” Armie answers her with a bright smile.

“We’re in the same boat, then!” Mrs. Flender laughs again. “Anyway, I’ll look this over for you and talk to you more about it tomorrow. Cool?”

“Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks.”

“Of course. Hey, I was just about to bring Timmy to the mall for some lunch. Would you care to join us?”

Timmy’s eyes widen and he looks at his mom as if she were crazy. Armie shakes his head. “Oh no, I—I don’t want to impose. My mom’s coming to get me anyway.”

“I insist. You and Timmy can hang out there before heading to the shelter today,” she responds.

“W-well…I guess? I’ll…I’ll just call my mom, then.”

\--

Lunch with Timmy and Mrs. Flender, Armie thinks, is bizarre. On the one hand, now that she and Timmy are together, he can definitely see the similarities between them, the resemblance almost uncanny, and Armie really wonders how he never made the connection before today. On the other, well… seeing your teacher in any environment other than a school setting is one thing, but Timmy…Timmy is all smiles, all snark as he speaks with his mother.

Armie thinks he likes this smiley, snarky Timmy more.

Not that he likes Timmy or anything.

“I have to head back to school now. You two can just hang out for a couple more hours before you call Greta to bring you guys down to the shelter, yeah?”

Timmy nods, taking one last bite from his plate.

“Okay then. Have fun you two. Don’t get into any trouble!” Mrs. Flender warns as she walks away.

It isn’t until she walks away that Armie realizes how potentially awkward the next couple hours will be.

“So uh,” he tries. “What are we going to do?”

Timmy glances at him, then checks the time on his phone. He wads up a napkin and tosses it onto his tray. “I don’t know… We could—we could walk around, I guess.”

Armie nods slowly, standing to throw away his trash. He focuses on the bin after, tries to shake off the nervousness that he feels creeping in.

> 12:56 PM  
> Nick
> 
> I

Timmy comes up with his trash, and Armie hurriedly shoves his phone into his pocket. He looks at his shoes, pretending not to catch the strange look Timmy shoots him. They walk out of the food court in a silence that carries for a few minutes before Armie tries again. “Do you want to watch a movie or?”

“No, I… I don’t have money to spare for a movie,” Timmy shakes his head, eyes focused straight ahead.

Armie’s mind flies back to the conversation he overheard all those days ago. _Fuck_.

“Oh,” he answers lamely. “Sure, okay.”

They lapse into silence once more, Armie internally kicking himself for forgetting. He follows Timmy mindlessly, too caught up in his guilt. His phone vibrates.

> New Message from Nick the Idiot:
> 
> 01:05 PM  
> ???????
> 
> 01:05 PM  
> You good??
> 
> 01:05 PM  
> I’m at the mall
> 
> 01:06 PM  
> With Timmy
> 
> 01:06 PM  
> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> 01:06 PM  
> excUSE Me ?!?!?!??!?!
> 
> 01:06 PM  
> WHAT
> 
> 01:06 PM  
> It’s so quiet
> 
> 01:07 PM  
> I donT
> 
> 01:07 PM  
> It’s so weird what do I  
> say I think I already  
> fucked up I—
> 
> 01:08 PM  
> FUCK, SORRy class is  
> starting be safE MAKE  
> GOOD DECISIONS TEXT ME  
> AFTERWARDS

He grimaces. _Damn it, Nick._ He puts his phone into his pocket again and looks around. While he was distracted, Timmy led them into a bookstore and is browsing through one of the shelves.

“I thought you hated reading,” Armie said.

“I never said that,” mumbles Timmy, eyes still scanning the shelf in front of him. “I hate the subject, I hate being forced to read stuff, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like to read. If I could read the books that I like, that I’m actually interested in for class…” He trails off, taps the spine of one of the books and holds his hand there, marking a place in row of books as he looks farther down the row. “It’s not here…”

Armie remains silent, watches as Timmy pulls back from the shelf and walks to the register to ask the cashier a question. Watches as Timmy comes back to the shelf, disappointment in his eyes.

“They don’t have it?” Armie guesses.

“Just sold the last copy, apparently,” Timmy sighs. “It’s fine. But. I’m going to try and find something similar. You cool to just…” he gestures around the bookstore.

“Wh—oh. Yeah. I’ll look around, too,” half-hearted relief fills Armie. _At least I won’t be able to put my foot in my mouth again_.

Timmy wanders toward the shelves of science fiction. Armie watches him go before turning to the Classics.

He’s flipping through _The Man in the Iron Mask_ when Timmy appears by his side. “Hey,” Timmy says, pulling his phone out. “We should get going. We need to stop by the grocery store before my aunt comes and gets us.”

Armie nods, shelving the book in his hands and follows Timmy out. They head to the grocery store adjacent to the mall. Once inside, he signals Armie to get a cart as he heads toward the pet food aisle, still on the phone with Greta.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “I’m getting the food now.” He points to three bags of dog food and Armie hauls them into the cart. “Yes, of course I’m paying with shelter funds, don’t worry. Okay. Yeah. See you in a bit.”

“Cat food?” Armie asks when he’s done.

“Yeah, but I’ll get it, we only need a couple small bags and a few more cans of wet food.”

Armie pushes the cart behind Timmy as he goes to get the cat food before they make their way to the registers. Apprehension creeps in as he once again remembers the conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear.

When they get to the checkout, Armie unloads the food and watches as the items are rung up. The total comes to just a little under $100, and Timmy takes out his wallet to pay. The card he pulls out of his wallet is labeled with his name, and he signs with his signature. Armie frowns, feeling uneasy.

The cashier hands the receipt to Timmy and he slips it into the paper bag of canned cat food, and Armie feels some of the tension drain from his shoulders. _Maybe he’ll get refunded later_ …

“Thank you!” he calls to the cashier. He turns to Armie. “Come on, I think she should be here already.”

“Hey,” Armie says, not filtering his thoughts, pushing the cart behind Timmy. “I was thinking, I don’t have your phone number…”

Timmy looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrows quirked in confusion. “And why would you need that?”

Armie hadn’t gotten that far. “In case I, uh. Have to miss a day or something?”

Timmy is silent for a moment. “That’s fair, I guess. Here, give me your phone and I’ll put it in.”

Armie hands his phone over as they exit the store. He sees Greta waiting in the loading zone leaning against her car and waves. “Hey boys,” she calls.

“Hi Greta,” Armie greets as Timmy kisses her cheek. Armie hauls the dog food into the trunk of her car as Timmy gets the bags of cat food. There’s a ripping sound and he looks around, bewildered, and sees Timmy crouched by trunk, holding onto a bag ripped down the side, cans of cat food spilling onto the pavement.

He’s about to bend to help, but Timmy waves him away, already lifting a stack of cans to slide into the trunk beside the dog food. He’s holding the receipt and Armie’s phone in one hand as he slides in the last stack and pulls away to shut the trunk.

Armie sees something tiny and white flutter away, is about to track it with his eyes, when Timmy gives him his phone back. He takes it and Timmy quirks an eyebrow at him with a smile before getting into the front seat.

“Thanks sweeties,” Greta says as Armie clambers into the back seat. “Let’s get going.”

When they pull out into the stream of traffic, Greta turns to Timmy. “Did you get the receipt? How much did it cost in all?”

“Yeah, it’s—here.” Timmy irons out the crumpled receipt in his hand. “Oh shoot. It, it got ripped a little, at the bottom. It was in the bag that ripped, I didn’t even notice. Here, it was just a little under $100 for everything,” he hands Greta the receipt and she stuffs it into her purse without looking at it.

“Okay that’s great. And you used the shelter funds, right?”

“ _Yes_ , Aunty, I told you I was going to.”

“I know, sweets, I’m just checking. It wouldn’t be the first time you used your own money for shelter supplies. You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

“Well, I did this time, though.”

“Alright.”

Armie sits silently in the back seat, his stomach dropping. _Oh no…_

\--

It’s a few days before Greta finds out Timmy used his own money to buy food. When Armie walks into the office, they’re both yelling at each other while Kiernan tries hopelessly to calm Greta down, Saoirse standing shell-shocked and near tears in the background. No one notices Armie’s presence.

“Mom,” Kiernan says, her voice rising slightly. “You need to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal!”

Greta rounds on her daughter. “Kiernan, I need you stay out of this. Take Saoirse with you, get started on the food—don’t. Don’t argue with me right now,” she adds when Kiernan looks like she’s about to say something more.

When Kiernan finally retreats, her arm tight around Saoirse’s, Greta turns back to Timmy. “ _Why_ do you insist on doing this Timmy? I asked you if you used the shelter funds and you blatantly lied to me about it!” her voice drops, and she’s no longer yelling, but in the newfound silence of the room, the effect is the same. Armie can’t move.

“We. Don’t. Have. Enough. Funds!” Timmy’s voice drops as well, despair filling every emphasized word. “I was just—just trying to help out a bit!”

“Whether or not we have enough funding is my problem! You are a teenaged boy, you’re still in high school. You should be using your spare money on video games and books, on—whatever, just—you’re not supposed to worry about whether the shelter has enough funds! How do you think it makes me feel, Timmy? To hear that my nephew is paying out of pocket for things that _I’m_ supposed to be taking care of?!” She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Timmy… Timmy, listen to me. If I find out that you’re using your own money for things like this again, I will talk to your mother and make sure you can’t help out here again.”

At this Timmy stops short, face paling. “You wouldn’t!” he whispers, his voice shaky. “You—you wouldn’t. You can’t.”

“Try me, young man,” she replies, voice flat, cold.

Timmy stares at her and it’s about three seconds before he breaks, his face crumpling, lips trembling, eyes spilling over with tears. “I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice cracking on the last syllable. “I really was just trying to help.” He turns and runs out the back.

Greta stares after him for a beat before stalking to the restroom and slamming the door.

It’s somber at the shelter that day.

\--

Armie is running late.

Armie _hates_ running late, and today— _Fuck this entire day_ , he thinks heavily.

He was late to get to school in the morning and couldn’t help open, and he had dropped a container of glass beakers down the stairs when he was asked to help clear out an old science classroom; he’d had to clean up all the glass and ensure that there were no smithereens anywhere to harm the students, and because of it, he wasn’t able to get to his biology teacher for help understanding the Punnett Square. And then, his biology teacher had kept him after regular school hours to explain some more, even though Armie had insisted that he understood it after the first explanation.

_Yeah._ Fuck _this day_.

He skids through the office, garbles a hurried greeting at Greta, and runs out to the MAS where Kiernan, Saoirse, and Timmy are already pulling pots and bowls from under the sink.

“Oh, he finally shows up,” says Timmy coldly.

Armie tries to catch his breath, his lungs threatening to collapse. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “My bio teacher kep—”

“And you couldn’t send me a text to let me know you’d be late?” Timmy snaps. “You have my number for a reason.”

Armie stares, taken aback by Timmy’s attitude. He feels his right eye start pulsing. “Sorry…”

“Well it’s too late for that now, just start on the food,” Timmy clips, stomping out of the room.

Armie turns to Kiernan and Saoirse, confused.

“Don’t worry,” Saoirse says softly. “He’s not mad at you. He—” She cuts herself off and looks at Kiernan, who just shrugs. “So… you know the whole buying food with his money thing? He just found out that Greta withdrew shelter funds and put it into his bank account to repay him, including some extra for all the other times he bought supplies with his own money.”

Armie huffs, rubs his eye. He nods quietly and gets to work. He lets Kiernan and Saoirse’s muted conversation filter as white noise as he pulls the pots and canned dog food toward him on the counter. He reaches for the bin of dry food and it slides way too easily on the floor. He opens the lid. Empty.

“Oh, sorry Armie, I guess nobody refilled it from this morning. Here,” Kiernan says, reaching to pull a bag of food wedged on the other side of the sink. Armie rushes to help her, managing to slide it all the way out. “Got it?” Armie nods and she returns to help Saoirse with the cat food.

He manages to get the bag open lifts it awkwardly over the lip of the bin, slowly spilling the dog food into the container. The pattering of the kibble runs over loud into his ears and he closes his eyes as the pulsing gets worse. When the pattering slows and he opens his eyes again, three things happen simultaneously.

The bag he’s holding folds strangely, causing a bit of dog food to spill over onto the floor just as Timmy walks back into the room. _Damn it!_ Armie lunges awkwardly to fix the fold and save the rest of the kibble from spilling over.

“Wh—Armie what the fuck,” Timmy bites. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Hey, it was an accident, Tim,” Kiernan says quietly. Armie bends to scoop up the fallen pieces, his left eye starting to pulse as well.

“It wouldn’t have happened if he supported the bag properly!” Timmy’s voice gets louder with each word as he comes up next to him. “You have _one_ job here, Armie. Can you do it without fucking it up?!”

Armie snaps then. Standing up, he grabs Timmy by the collar and shoves him back against the sink. “ _Fuck. You_. Timothée,” he growls. “It was a god damned _accident_. Why the fuck would I do this shit on purpose?”

“Because that’s what you do isn’t it? You make messes, just like you did at your school!” Timmy snarls.

Armie shoves him into the sink again before he’s being pulled back by Kiernan.

“Calm down, both of you,” Saoirse says, voice hard.

“You guys don’t need me here today,” Armie says frostily, glaring at Timmy over Kiernan’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to fuck anything else up. And I don’t need any more shit today.”

He stalks out of the room and back towards the office. He doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the community rec center near the shelter and he realizes he’s too far from home to walk.

He reaches for his phone and calls his mother.

\--

> 02:30 PM  
> I’m not coming in today.

\--

Armie doesn’t return to the shelter the next day or the day following. He’s still too mad to think about going back. Nick comes over on the second day of his hiatus from the shelter, having gone over to help out only to find out that Armie wasn’t coming.

“Hey,” he says cautiously from his doorway. “Can I come in?”

“You’re going to come in anyway, why are you asking?” Armie doesn’t look at him, eyes trained on the ceiling as he lies back on his bed.

Nick rolls his eyes and moves deeper into the room. “How are things?” he asks as he sits next to Armie.

“Cut the shit, Nick.” Armie shifts over.

Nick sighs, pulls his legs up on the bed and turns to him. “What happened, Armie?”

Armie grunts. “I had a really bad fucking day and he yelled at me. Called me fuck up, basically. So I shoved him against the sink and yelled at him, too, and then I left. I haven’t gone back since.”

“Arms…”

“I know,” he sighs, presses his palms into his eyes.

“Are you going to go back?”

“Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know, I can’t just never see those dogs and cats again. I like them too much.”

Nick snorts. “Yeah, okay, you like the cats and dogs too much. Okay.” He pauses and looks around Armie’s room. “So… have your feelings for him changed at all?”

Armie lowers his hands, glares at the ceiling. Sighs. “No… I know we were both on edge that day. I feel like shit for shoving him up against the sink like that.”

“Mmm, I bet you’d like to shove him up against a sink for another reason,” Nick quips and waggles his eyebrows.

“You little shit,” Armie grunts, shoving him off the bed.

“ _Armand Hammer!_ ” his mother’s voice drifts in from the living room.

Nick cackles from the floor.

“I hate you both,” says Armie plaintively.

\--

Armie wakes up to his phone ringing on the table next to his bed. Grumbling, he shuts it off. Whoever it is can wait until it’s not ass o’clock in the morning. He snuggles down into his pillows and prepares to drift back to sleep.

His phone begins to ring again and he squints at the too bring screen to see ‘Timmy’ in the caller ID. He answers it, confused.

“Hello?” his voice cracks and he clears his throat.

“Armie!” Timmy’s voice is choked.

Armie sits up hurriedly, concern flooding his system. “Timmy?” he turns on his lamp. “Timmy what’s wrong?”

Timmy sobs out a response, but it’s too garbled for Armie to understand it.

“Wait Timmy, what? Say that again.”

“T-there’s a f-fire at the shelter!”

Armie’s blood runs cold.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

He bolts out of his room and runs to his parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! Wake up!”

“Armie, wha—”

“There’s a fire at the shelter! I need to go, I need to be there right now!”

His mother jumps to her feet and ushers him out the door. He calls Nick on the way to the car.

“This better be important, Arms,” Nick slurs when he picks up.

“There’s a fire at the shelter! Get down there if you can!”

There’s a beat of silence before Nick replies, “I’m coming,” and hangs up.

Not having anything else to do, Armie becomes antsy. “Drive faster, mom, please!”

“I’m going as fast as I can, Armie. Relax. We’ll get there,” his mom says, voice soothing even as he feels the car pick up speed.

Armie takes to bouncing his legs, alternates between biting the skin around his fingernails and squeezing the seat below him, feeling the fabric beneath his fingertips. He presses his torso back against the seat, focusing on that pressure, watching mindlessly as houses and trees fly past, hoping that nothing else happens.

Seven minutes later, Armie’s mother screeches into the parking lot and Armie throws himself out of the car. Sirens are wailing in the background and he runs towards the office and towards the back.

He stops once he’s outside, his breath catching in his throat. Fire is raging in the MAS and it’s slowly spreading towards the dog kennels. He sees figures throwing buckets of water to try and quell the fire and others darting into the kennels and leading dogs out the side gate towards the parking lot.

He runs to help them, wrenching kennels open and leashing as many dogs as possible to get them out. The heat gets more intense as the fire gets closer, and the people who were trying to put out the fire resort to keeping it from spreading any more.

Armie runs through each kennel again, making sure all the dogs are out before heading to the cat house. Nick and Tyler are already there, ushering the bigger cats into small cages and carrying the smaller ones. He goes to help them as much as he can, his eyes and throat stinging from the heat and the smoke. As they rush to the parking lot with the cats, they see firemen lugging a hose towards the MAS.

Armie looks wildly around the lot and calms when he sees Greta holding a plastic bin filled with water. Inside, Mr. Benedict swims around, his flippers hitting the sides of the tub because he’s not used to such a confined space. Armie walks through the dogs, taking a head count, and sighs in relief when they’re all there. He turns to the cats to do the same, but sees Timmy already there, tear tracks glistening on his cheek.

Timmy looks up and sees Armie staring at him and suddenly he’s up and throwing himself towards Armie in a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries as he buries his face into Armie’s neck and shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Armie says, rubbing a hand up and down Timmy’s back. “I’m sorry too.”

Timmy shakes his head vehemently, face still buried. “Thank you for coming,” he whispers, just loud enough to hear over the cacophony of sirens and yells and whines from all the animals.

“Of course,” Armie says, lips pressing into Timmy’s hair. “Of course.”

\--

It takes another couple hours for the fire to be completely put out. By the time it is, the sun is coming up. Armie and his mother, along with Nick and Tyler, stay to help clean up the debris.

\--

It takes a month before the shelter can fundraise enough money to repair the damage the fire caused, and another month after that to completely rebuild the MAS. The dog kennels and the cat house had luckily survived the fire, unscathed save for minor blackening from the smoke.

Armie spends most of his time at the shelter because the headmaster graciously agreed that that is where he would be needed more. Nick and Tyler become familiar faces around the facility as well, both of them spurred into volunteering after helping during the fire.

He grows closer to Saoirse and Kiernan, frequently cracking jokes with them as they carry out their duties. He’s even able to make Timmy smile a couple of times, which he deems as a grand success even if he has to take a few deep breaths to calm his heart rate afterwards.

\--

It’s a couple weeks after the reopening of the MAS that Armie is ambushed. He arrives early and is just about to walk into the office when he’s grabbed from behind and pulled into a car. He bolts upright in the seat, prepared to struggle until he sees Kiernan smiling at him from the driver’s seat and Saoirse smirking beside him.

“I think, ‘Hey Armie, come with us,’ would have worked,” he snarks.

Saoirse tsks, looking at her nails. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Armie blanches at her reply.

“Okay, so what do you two want?”

“Just a friendly chat about my dear cousin,” says Kiernan.

“What about Timmy?” Armie replies a little too casually.

“Well… We want to know how you feel about him.”

Armie pauses. With all that’s been going on recently, his feelings for Timmy were pushed to the back of his mind—except for every time he smiled or laughed, which was more often now, but that’s beside the point. Now that he’s been prompted though…

He looks at Kiernan and Saoirse warily, worried they might try something.

“Relax,” says Saoirse, correctly reading his expression. “We’re not going to do anything. We really just want to know.”

He hesitates, the words on the tip of his tongue. Kiernan nods at him and— “I like him,” he says simply.

“Mmm, not good enough,” Saoirse pokes his shoulder. “Continue.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Armie sighs, chuckles. “I like him. As. As more than a friend, maybe? He drives me crazy sometimes, especially when he gets on my case about food and makes me feed Mr. Benedict, but… I think he’s amazing with animals and that he’d be a fucking fantastic vet or something someday. I also think he’s really sweet under, you know, all the thorns. I admire him because he of how passionate he is. And, I like the way he smiles. His eyelashes, too. His cheekbones, I—” he stops when Saoirse and Kiernan share a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” they chorus.

They drive him back to the shelter and the rest of the day goes by without another hitch.

\--

“Hey,” Armie calls, walking into the office. It’s a warm Saturday mid-morning, and the sounds of families and volunteers filter in through the thin walls. Timmy had texted him earlier that morning and asked if he could come in for a couple hours. Seeing no one in the office, he turns to peek outside one of the windows facing the front of the building and sees a couple heads duck out of sight. He shakes his head.

“In the back,” comes Timmy’s voice, and, well, okay.

“Hello to you, too,” Armie huffs under his breath. He lifts the divider and feels eyes on his back, and when he turns around to fix it back in place, he once again sees heads duck out of view. He hears plastic snap and the ducking heads take a quick back seat in his mind as he moves toward the back office.

Timmy is sitting on the floor next to a big open box. “Hey,” he says, smiling around a plastic tag still attached to a leash. His tongue comes out when the tag gives and he pulls a small piece of plastic from it, placing it on a pile by his knee. “Donations came in this morning.”

Armie pulls a squeaky hamburger from the box, smiling widely. Since the fire, the local community has been pulling through for the shelter a lot more, volunteering their time or dropping very generous donations. He tries to pull the tag off the toy, but only the price comes off.

“Oh, pfft,” he mumbles, bringing the plastic to his mouth to bite off. He looks into the box again, rifles through the layers. “There’s so much stuff in here.”

Timmy nods, smile wide, victorious, as a tag comes off the new leash in his hands clean. “Ha!” he folds the leash next to him and reaches for the next one.

“By the way,” Armie starts, frowning at a stubborn tag. “Those girls outside?”

“Ah, yeah, the donations came from them, actually. A—school drive? They’re middle schoolers, I think. A bunch of them are here to do some community service hours, too, so we’re good on the feeding today.”

Armie hums, still struggling with the tag. “They’re very… curious.” He thinks of the heads ducking down under the window.

Timmy snorts. “They’re probably just in love with you.”

The plastic falls from Armie’s mouth when his jaw drops. “Uh, _what_?”

Timmy gets up, goes to the desk, looking for something. “Well…” he starts, turning his back to Armie. “They’re middle schoolers, and you’re a very tall high schooler with really nice eyes.”

Armie fumbles with his toy and it squeaks pitifully when he squeezes too hard trying to catch it. _What?_ “What?” he asks again, looking up at Timmy who’s gone suspiciously still.

“I said what I said,” Timmy says, rounding on Armie, face determined and eyes narrowed as if daring Armie to say something else. He’s holding a pair of scissors in his hand and Armie shuts his mouth against the question on the tip of his tongue.

They eye each other for a moment before Timmy tips the scissors down to Armie. “Here,” he says. “For the tag.”

Timmy walks out of the room with a, “Hurry, there’s something we need to do. Grab a couple of the new leashes,” leaving Armie to hurriedly snip the tag and scramble after Timmy, feeling off-center.

He catches up to Timmy outside the dog kennels, smiling as all the dogs start to perk up noisily at the presence of humans.

“Thanks for coming in today, by the way. I know you didn’t have to,” Timmy comments.

Armie blinks. “Ah, yeah, of course,” he mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Greta walk out of the MAS with a few middle schoolers on her tail. She waves at Armie and ushers the girls who go pink at the sight of Armie back in the direction of the office. “Why did you call me, though? It looks like there’s more than enough extra hands today.”

Timmy takes a leash from him and walks toward Bruno’s kennel. “I thought you might want to try walking the dogs today. Hey buddy! Hi! You ready for this? Yeah you are, haha.”

His voice goes higher as he opens the kennel and slips inside, shutting the door before Bruno can try to make a break for it. Bruno jumps and licks and wriggles and whines and Timmy’s smile grows larger and larger. He manages to clip the leash before long and winds it around his hand a few times before reopening the door, tugging firmly when Bruno tries to floor it out of the kennel. “Nuh-uh, you ding dong, not this time.”

Armie bends to catch Bruno as he jumps up to greet him, fluffs his ears and scratches just below them. He grins when Bruno sits so his leg can come up and scratch along with him. “Walking the dogs, huh?”

He glances up at Timmy, who unwinds the leash and hands it to him.

Timmy hums. “You’re always on food duty when you’re here. I thought you might enjoy a change in scenery.” Timmy takes the second leash and moves to another kennel.

Armie laughs as he wraps Bruno’s leash up his arm. “I believe it was you who put me on food duty…”

“So anyway,” Timmy coughs, bringing another dog—a pit bull—out of a kennel. Armie laughs again. “Change of scenery. Come on, Lady, that’s a good girl.”

The dog at the end of Timmy’s leash is the complete opposite of the lovable mess at the end of Armie’s. She stays at Timmy’s side and sniffs nervously at the air, tail low to the ground.

“Come on, you sweet thing. It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs gently as he leads her closer to Bruno, who immediately perks up and starts whining. “He won’t bite, babe, you’re okay.”

Armie tugs Bruno back when he starts jumping and Lady shies away. Timmy sighs. “Well, it’s a start I guess.” He turns to Armie. “Let’s go to the field.”

Timmy leads Lady around to the front of the shelter, and Armie’s shoulder starts hurting with how much Bruno tugs on the leash to go anywhere except the front of the shelter. “Bruno, come on,” he winces as Bruno tries one last time to run out to the parking lot. “No, _in_ the gate, go on.” He sighs as Bruno finally heads into the play field and makes sure to shut the gate behind them.

Timmy’s waiting for him at a small bench in the middle of the field. “Nice of you to join us,” he says, voice soft as he rubs Lady’s chin. Armie’s mouth drops in outrage, shuts when Timmy sees his expression and laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Here, come sit. Did you close the gate well?”

Armie nods and sits next to Timmy on the bench, pulling Bruno back when he tries to wander off. He watches as Timmy reaches underneath the bench and pulls out two tennis balls. He hands Armie one, and then unclips Lady’s leash.

She stays put, eyeing Bruno warily, and Timmy laughs and rubs behind her ears. “You’re such a sweetie, aren’t you?” he asks, voice gentle. He turns to Armie. “So, you can take the leash off him now. Just, grab his collar first, yeah.”

Armie does, and Timmy holds one of the tennis balls in front of Bruno, grabbing the dog’s attention immediately. Timmy laughs, delighted, eyes glittering in the sunlight. “You want this? Huh? You want the ball? Yeah?” He laughs harder when Bruno hyper fixates on the ball, tracking it with his eyes, his mouth going lax and nose going wild.

And Armie stares, he really can’t help it. Timmy’s still moving the ball in front of Bruno’s face and yanking it back when he tries to bite at it, and Armie is transfixed at the way his curls are a lighter brown now that they’re in the sun but are just as wild as ever, at the way Timmy’s eyes lighten from green to golden and then darken again with every little shift he makes, at the way his brow furrows and relaxes in time with the closing and opening of his mouth as he teases Bruno, at the way his pink lips pull around his smile when Bruno whines and snorts, at the way the bottom one disappears behind his top row of teeth as he stills. As he stills…

Armie jerks when he realizes Timmy is staring back at him, with eyes that are open, soft, curious. He feels his cheeks warm, and Timmy draws his arm back and snaps it forward, ball flying to a far corner of the field, feels his arm wrench because he’s still holding on to Bruno’s collar, and he takes that distraction for what it is, breaking eye contact to watch as Bruno hurtles after the ball once he lets go of his collar, as Bruno skitters to a dead stop once he reaches it and gets rolled by momentum into the fence. He stands immediately, concerned, and only just stops from running to see if Bruno’s okay when he hears Timmy’s laughter, soft and breathy next to him, a fond, “Idiot,” nearly whispered.

He turns back to Timmy, allowing their eyes to meet again, and Armie’s stomach dips pleasantly when he sees Timmy beaming at him, expression light and warm. He’s still forming an answering smile of his own when Bruno trots up by his knee and drops the ball, panting and stealing Timmy’s attention.

“Aww, that’s a good boy!” Timmy stretches to pick up the ball again, and this time holds it in front of Lady. She sniffs at it disdainfully and shifts away when Bruno zones in on it again. Timmy tsks, but Bruno is insistent. “Ugh, god, _fine_ , you absolute spazz!”

He throws the ball again and this time Armie doesn’t freak out when Bruno rolls into the fence. Armie turns his attention to Lady, watches her observe Bruno, almost indifferent except for a slight tension, as if she wants to follow after him.

“Here, let me take her,” Armie says, reaching for her collar to leash her again. “Give her a break from all of that.” He gestures to Bruno who’s beginning to zoom back over.

Timmy smiles at him, laughs slightly when Bruno drops the ball in front of him again. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

Armie grins back and gently tugs Lady upright and away, leading her to the opposite side of the field, closer to the shelter buildings. Lady paces along mildly beside him, sniffing and pawing at random tufts of grass. Her tail raises, starts wagging slightly the longer they walk around, and Armie fills with content. _There you go,_ he thinks. _She’s finally relaxing_.

She stills suddenly and Armie watches as she lurches after a grasshopper that hops out of a nearby tuft, laughing as she pulls on her leash to catch up to it. He gives slack and she follows it right up to a fence and whines a little, trying to paw at it when it jumps through the links. Armie crouches beside her, hands reaching to rub her head, her snout, down her soft back.

“Sorry girl, it was just too quick for us,” he murmurs quietly, and Lady’s tongue lolls out as she pants, happy with the attention. “Oh you really are such a sweetheart, aren’t you? Such a good girl…”

“She’s the sweetest one in the shelter.” Armie twitches in surprise and whips his head around when Timmy speaks just over his shoulder. Timmy is standing just behind him, hands clasped behind his back, leash hanging loosely in his hold. Somewhere behind him, he hears Bruno snorting and huffing along, in a world of his own. Armie’s too caught up in Timmy to pay much attention.

And Timmy is—well. Timmy leaves Armie feeling slightly breathless as he looks up at him. He remembers being in a very similar position a few weeks ago. But this time, instead of concerned, Timmy’s expression is clear, confident, lips quirked in a soft smile. His eyes, a light green now, take on a sureness as they watch Armie now, a sureness that Armie is certain is reflected in his, tainted only just with tentativeness. Armie’s stomach dips again as Timmy crouches beside him, reaching out to pet Lady as well, and giddiness floods through him when their arms brush together, sparking under his navel when their fingers meet in Lady’s fur.

They glance at each other then, silent, appraising.

Armie swallows, his heart stuttering and then picking up double time, tries, “Tim—”

“Mom, what about that one?” a small voice calls from over the fence. Armie and Timmy look up to see family walking up to the fence of the play field, a young girl, about 6, clinging to her mother’s leg.

“Hi!” calls Timmy, voice welcoming. “I’m Timmy. What’s your name?”

The girl walks up to the fence. “Harper,” she says, eyes focused on Lady. “Is this one a nice dog?”

“She is! She’s one of our nicest!” Timmy replies, excitement and fondness in his voice.

Armie watches as Timmy devotes all his attention to the girl and her parents, telling them more about Lady, holding Lady still so they can pet her through the fence.

He rubs his chest as the giddiness from earlier settles there, morphing into something even warmer, chuckles quietly to himself as his mind fills with the image of a green figure, with the words, ‘in Who-ville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day!’

Timmy’s eyes flick to him, brow furrowed curiously. Armie shakes his head and only smiles when Timmy shrugs slightly and turns his attention back to the family in front of them.

_Three sizes sounds about right_ , he thinks.

\--

The end of the semester arrives, meaning the end of Armie’s requirement to volunteer at the shelter arrives as well, and it weighs heavily in the back of his mind.

It’s simple, really. He knows he should stay and help even after the semester ends, and he really wants to. But after Kiernan and Saoirse’s abduction of him a few weeks prior, his feelings for Timmy have been multiplying exponentially. It’s gotten to the point that he can no longer function properly when Timmy’s in the same room as him and that has led to a few small arguments that thankfully stopped before they could escalate any further.

“Armie,” calls Timmy as he walks out with a food cart, Kiernan and Saoirse already out in the kennels. “Can you feed Mr. Benedict?”

Armie grimaces and reaches for the turtle food.

“Hey you,” he calls towards the turtle basin. “No Armie flavored meat for you today, okay?”

After successfully feeding the turtle (whether the pad of his ring finger is stinging because of a near bite or not, that’s nobody’s business but his own, thanks), he heads out towards the dog kennels.

A wave of déjà vu hits him when he sees no one there but the dogs scarfing down the food. The feeling intensifies when he heads to the puppy kennels and sees no one there either. He brushes it off and goes towards the cat house, slowing when he hears Timmy talking to Mr. Snarlington.

“ _I hate him, Mr. Snarlington. I hate the way he makes me feel. I know, I know it’s stupid to hate him because of something as bullshit as that. He just… He’s so different than I expected him to be. Different in a good way, though. He’s not here to hurt you guys. He’s actually sweet and caring. And he works so well with animals, Snarly! I, I wish he’d stop coming, sometimes, you know? I think my life would be a lot easier if he didn’t come. But in a lot of ways, it’d be so much harder, too. I like him a lot, Mr. Snarlington. What do I do?_ ”

Armie is frozen, his heart racing in his chest. _Well…_

He waits a few more minutes before he walks into the cat house, smiling sheepishly when Timmy tells him off for taking too long.

\--

The semester break arrives.

Armie doesn’t go back to shelter.

\--

Timmy drags his feet through the door of the office.

“Aunt Greta?” he calls out. He doesn’t see her behind her computer and jumps when she pops out of the bathroom.

“Oh sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s fine. I’m heading towards the back now.”

“Alright, have fun,” she says. Timmy misses the excited smile she has on her face.

He makes his way to the MAS, ready to start preparing the food. He stops short when he sees the carts already loaded, ready to be brought out. He shrugs. Greta or Kiernan had extra time, probably. He delivers all the food to the dog kennels and heads back to the MAS to pick up the cat food. As he nears the cat house, his ears pick up the sound of a familiar voice speaking to Mr. Snarlington. He slows down.

“ _I don’t know why he calls you Mr. Snarlington, you purr more than you snarl. Haha, don’t do that, your whiskers tickle. Can I trust you, Mr. Snarlington? Because I have a confession to make. One that could potentially change… well, a lot, I think. I like someone, Mr. Snarlington. He's a pain in the ass, though. He’s mean, and he likes to yell at me, especially when I make the food too dry. But he’s also really… Passionate. He’s amazing with animals, and he’s, he’s so gentle with you all, you know? He also has the most amazing smile. I love it when I'm the reason for it, Mr. Snarlington. I like him. I really do._ ”

The voice falls silent and Timmy slowly pushes the cart into the house.

“Armie,” he says.

Armie stands up and puts Mr. Snarlington back into his cage. “Hi…”

“You disappeared for a week,” Timmy accuses.

“I did. I needed to sleep for a week after all the craziness of the semester.”

“And you couldn’t have texted or called to let me know?”

Armie has the decency to look ashamed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He shrugs.

“Why are you back?” Timmy rolls the cart to stop at Armie’s feet.

“I told you, I like the shelter.”

Timmy’s heartbeat stutters, picks up speed. “You like the shelter,” he repeats.

Armie smiles. He moves around the cart and steps in front of Timmy, who takes a step back. He reaches out and holds Timmy’s hands in his, and Timmy’s pretty sure his heart has stopped beating altogether. “I know you heard my conversation with Mr. Snarlington, Timothée.”

Timmy flushes, inhales shakily. “Just the shelter, then, right,” he dodges, trying to pull his hands away from Armie.

Armie chuckles and wraps his arms around Timmy. He leans in and brushes their lips together softly, pulls back, places a hand against Timmy’s cheek. Caresses his cheekbone with his thumb.

“The shelter,” he agrees, lips hovering over Timmy’s. “But, maybe you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I love you, and I also have this vague need in the back of my head to apologize to youuuuuu hahah ;n;
> 
> notnxbubz on Tumblr if you want to say hi!


End file.
